Manchester Martyr
by What'sNext04
Summary: That the craziness of Mrs. Landingham, the M.S., tobacco, and the appearance of Bruno Gianelli, the chaos that was so complicated was made a little simpler. They had found each other so it didn’t matter quite so much that the world was falling down aroun


I don't remotely own any portion of The West Wing

_Just some context: Post-Ep/AU for Manchester II. This is all based on the scene in Josh's hotel room the morning when Donna has to go get him and he isn't ready at all, and as they converse he ends up telling her how badly he screwed up the tobacco thing and that "it's going to be a very close election." The entire time I kept thinking about how the bed looks like two people slept in it instead of just Josh, and what if those two people had been Josh and Donna…_

**_Martyr:_ mar/tyr; 1. somebody who chooses to die rather than deny religious or political beliefs; 2. somebody who makes sacrifices or suffers greatly in order to advance a cause or principle; 3. somebody who experiences frequent or constant pain as a result of something. (Encarta Dictionary)**

_"It's going to be a very close election. I gotta take a shower"_

As the door closed behind him, Donna went to sit on the bed, exhausted. Coming in, seeing him still in his boxers and a t-shirt just sitting there, it had nearly killed her. It wasn't about having to get his ass up and ready, but it killed her that he hadn't slept. She had thought that last night, that afterwards… in the morning, waking up in his arms, being kissed good-morning, she figured he just had woken up before she had, but she realized the moment she saw the bed unmade.

_"You couldn't sleep?" "No, I could stop this thing…"_

She brushed a piece of blonde hair off the pillow next to her and stood up to turn it over. She angrily yanked the sheets up, remembering being together, tangled in those sheets, frantic and sweaty.

It had been late when they came back from the bar, and they had ordered pizza from Sal's, his favorite in Manchester, because neither of them had eaten a whole sandwich. They shared a beer like they used to in the office or at his place or hers, before they had known about the M.S., when life was a little easier and things were a little more stable. She shoved the sides of the sheet under the mattress.

And when she had reached for the last slice of pizza, he had reached for her.

She flipped over the other pillow sharply. He had worshipped her body, had truly made love to her, and he wasn't sorry afterwards. He didn't take it back, if he had, she would have been ok with it, she would have done that for him, wouldn't have held it against him. She snapped her wrists and watched the comforter float down to the bed, the comforter he had tucked around them like a cocoon as he cradled her in his arms. He had kissed her neck, her shoulder, and as she fell asleep, she almost didn't hear him whisper how much he loved her. She wished she hadn't.

The second time, she had woken up alone, her arm searching next to her where he had been and grabbing empty sheets instead. The bathroom door was shut, so she gathered her clothes and went back to her room to take a shower. She had walked down the hall with a small smile, with the hope that maybe in the midst of all the bad, there was good, that finally they had found their way to each other. That the craziness of Mrs. Landingham, the M.S., tobacco, and the appearance of Bruno Gianelli, the chaos that was so complicated was made a little simpler. They had found each other so it didn't matter quite so much that the world was falling down around them.

She didn't notice she was crying until she saw the little spots on the bedspread. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and fixed his suit on top of them so he wouldn't notice. She had thought that last night was the perfect solution, the silver lining, but in the light of day, she knew it would be their undoing.

He opened the door ,wrapped in a towel, and stood at the end of the bed silently. He remained motionless for a beat so she figured that he probably wanted some privacy, was probably embarrassed and felt awkward around her. "I'll let you get dressed then…" and she stood on steadier legs than she would have thought, but he reached out and grabbed her hand. She looked up to see his eyes bright, too close to tears for their comfort. He took a ragged breath to say what she knew was coming,

_"Josh, what's this about?" "I blew the tobacco thing …that could have helped us, I was…"_

She knew it was coming when he had leaned against the bathroom door, so frustrated, so exhausted. He had looked at her like a lost little boy, holding it together with both hands, without an extra one to give her, or the strength to try. "Donna…God, I, I don't think this is the best time to, I don't think we can do this right now, don't think this is best for any of us, things are…God this isn't supposed to be like this…" She looked away from his wild eyes and to their entwined fingers, and gently pulled hers loose, because she wasn't going to ask for something he didn't have to give.

There had been so much heartbreak in the last four weeks; she couldn't imagine she had any pieces left to break. She nodded because she didn't trust her voice to lie to him and tell him it was ok, that she understood. She would end up crying, and then he would feel guilty about one more screw-up. She couldn't do that to him, she loved him too much.

She opened the door as he found his voice only to have it break as he choked, "You made the bed…," and went on frantically strained, pleading, "Donna…you have to know, you have to…I lo-" And with a sob she closed the door because she knew that she couldn't end it if she heard him tell her he loved her. She would have lost it, would have run back into his arms. She would have lost it for both of them, and if he couldn't be the strong one, she would have to be. She would eventually suffocate under her armor, but for now, she didn't have a choice about being the martyr.


End file.
